


A Means to an End

by Missgoldy



Category: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
Genre: Arguing, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missgoldy/pseuds/Missgoldy
Summary: She doesn’t know what this is. They’re not dating. There’s no holding hands, no loving sentiments or long walks on the beach. At work, it’s strictly business. They’re professional and courteous to one another. Nothing has changed in that respect. Their colleagues are none the wiser.But the nights?The nights are definitely new.





	A Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

> Good lord. 
> 
> I don't quite know what to say about this. I don't know where the hell it came from (other than the perverted corners of my mind). It's tasteful, but in the same breath, probably the filthiest thing I've ever written. I think I've outdone myself. 
> 
> I'll post it here for your reading enjoyment.

It’s hot. Stiflingly hot.

The humidity tonight has reached ridiculous proportions. She can feel the sweat gathering under her arms and beneath her singlet as she tosses and turns.

One bare leg hangs off the bed; a pathetic effort to cool the rest of her body, currently tucked under a crisp, white sheet. It’s hard to sleep without the light weight of something covering her.

The air is thick with heat. The silver moonlight shimmers prettily over the water; visible through the window of her small hut. She rubs her face tiredly, listening to the waves gently crashing along the shoreline.

It’s still too darn hot.

She kicks the sheet off with an exasperated sigh, rolling over and doing her best to settle into some semblance of sleep, but it’s not to be. Not tonight, anyway.

She wonders if he’ll drop by tonight.

If he’ll saunter in with his typical, brazen confidence, and whether she’ll respond with her typical, haughty indifference to his presence. There’ll probably be some eye-rolling, some teasing. Occasionally an argument. It’s their ‘thing’, a game that has evolved between them. A battle of wills, designed to test their endurance. To see who folds first.

Once his hands and mouth are on her body, though — all bets are off.

The evening tends to degenerate quickly from there. The facade never lasts long.

She doesn’t know what this is.

They’re not dating. There’s no holding hands, no loving sentiments or long walks on the beach. At work, it’s strictly business. They’re professional and courteous to one another. Nothing has changed in that respect. Their colleagues are none the wiser.

But the nights?

The nights are definitely new.

She fumbles blindly for her cell phone, thumbing the home button and glancing at the time. It’s after midnight. He’s a night owl, so a visit is still distinctly on the cards.

She finds herself eyeing the door; mouth suddenly devoid of moisture. That familiar thrill of anticipation — and hope — is rising, and she chastises herself for it.

With a resigned grunt, she rolls over again, attempting to resettle. Closing her eyes, she nestles into her pillow and counts sheep for a while. A mental review of today’s mission, then a checklist of supplies needed from the mainland — anything to distract herself from the heat.

A slight creak.

A door opening and closing softly.

Footsteps treading the timber floorboards.

She lies still and unmoving, keeping her eyes shut as the mattress sinks down. The bedside lamp flicks on and he stretches out behind her, tossing a loose arm over her waist and nuzzling into her.

“God, Yankee,” she grumbles, giving him a half-hearted elbow to the ribs. “You are like a hot water bottle.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, his mouth pressed against the back of her neck. “Can’t sleep.”

“So you thought waking me was the next best option?” she bites back quietly.

“Yeah.”

His voice vibrates next to her skin and she can’t help but smile. His hands are already starting to roam, fingering the thin elastic waistband of her panties.

“Not wearing much, honey,” he remarks, pulling and snapping the fabric against her hip. “That for my benefit?”

She scoffs, slapping his hand away lightly. “Oh, _da_ ,” she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course, everything I do is for your benefit.“

“Thought so,” he responds lazily; and that irrational flare of anger surges.

Smug bastard.

This is how it goes. They fight, and then they fuck. She’s counted five times. Five heated, verbal sparring sessions that have ended with a sordid tangle of heaving bodies and hard, breathless thrusts.

She comes violently every time, without fail. Not that she’s keeping track.

Maybe she is.

“I think Ma-Ti knows.”

She frowns, glaring at him over her shoulder. “Did you say something to him?”

“No,” he says indignantly, reaching out and tugging an errant wisp of hair behind her ear that’s fallen loose from her braid. “I haven’t said any —“

“I swear to God, Yankee, I will blow you into —“

“You can blow me any time, sweetheart,” he remarks, snapping the elastic again and she can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Nice of you to offer.”

She ignores the suggestive comment. “How does Ma-Ti know?”

“The guy’s psychic, babe. It was only a matter of —“

“What did he say?” Her tone is accusing. “Because I surely have not —“

He shrugs idly. “Just a weird comment he made.”

He sits up suddenly, shuffling down to the end of the bed. Her toes nudge his thigh as he settles himself against the wrought iron bedposts. She props herself up on her elbows, a question forming on her lips. It’s soon forgotten as he grabs her bare feet by the ankles, moving them into his lap and massaging them gently. She sinks back down into the pillows again with a contented sigh.

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the waves crash on the shore as she studies him carefully. His hands are big and strong; thumbs kneading the arches of her feet with practiced ease.

She’s hopelessly attracted to him. He exudes confidence and he’s definitely easy on the eye. Tousled, sandy-red hair that’s been lightened by the sun over the years. Broad shoulders and toned arms, thick and ropy with muscle. Masses of freckles dust his shoulders and back. Chiselled jaw and deep, blue eyes that are far too easy to get lost in.

He garners a lot of female attention when they’re on the road. She pretends it doesn’t bother her, but it does. It causes a lot of jealousy and fighting. His over-inflated ego is matched only by his explosive temperament.

He seems to be watching her, too.

“Why are we doin' this?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence. His hands slide higher, reaching her calves and kneading the sore muscles. He seems lost in thought. “What the hell are we doin?”

“We are talking?” she murmurs, tossing an arm over her eyes. 

“You know what I mean.”

She eyes him warily from under her arm. “We have an arrangement, do we not?“

“Hell of a one-sided arrangement,” he says, but there’s no bitterness evident in his voice, just curiosity. “I drop by — we get into it — and you kick me out before the sun comes up!”

She jabs his chest again. “I have never heard you complain before, Wheeler.”

“Not complainin’,” he remarks, rubbing his thumbs along the arch of her foot. “Just seems to be all on your terms.”

“You have said it yourself,” she says drowsily. “You do not wish for a relationship.”

“Don’t wanna be tied down. Doesn’t mean I —“

“You flirt with every pretty girl who walks your way, Yankee. You cannot help yourself.”

He snorts. “Jealous, Toots?”

The comment bothers her more than it should. She scowls, trying to remove her foot from his grasp but he holds tight.

“Settle down,” he mutters. “Geez, babe, I’m only —“

“Do not ‘babe’ me,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You’re so damn touchy.”

“I assumed we were both getting something out of it,” she says, rolling her eyes skyward. “Besides, you are getting what you want —“

“Yeah, I’m screwin’ a prissy ice-queen with serious control issues.”

She’s a little taken aback by that comment. “I am not!” she bites back indignantly. “You would screw anything, so long as it had a pulse!”

“That rule’s you out,” he mutters. “I swear, sometimes you’re colder than a —“

“If you are not happy with the arrangement —“

“I’m not a piece of meat, sweetheart.”

She snorts. “Oh, for goodness —“

“And the whole lights off thing is startin’ to bug me —“

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for —“

“Would be nice to see you, ya know,” he grumbles. “Killer body like yours and I’m stuck readin’ it in Braille.”

“Oh, my heart bleeds for you, Yankee,” she bemoans. “You are such a mudak.”

“Uptight little princess,” he says under his breath, fixing her with an annoyed glare. “And why does it always have to be your room?”

“Because a HAZMAT suit is required to set foot inside yours,“ she mutters. “The EPA would deem it a health risk.”

“It’s not that bad! I don’t mean that we should—“

“Well, what do you mean? Because I hear a lot of whining but no —”

“Well, what the hell do I mean to you? Am I just convenient or —“

“You are a means to an end, Yankee!”

He shrinks back in surprise; his mouth hanging open as he stares at her. His face is flushed and for a moment she regrets her choice of words. It’s all previously been part of the game, designed to inflict the maximum amount of shock value.

She wonders if she’s pushed him too far.

“A means to an end, huh?”

She’s flustered now. An apology begins to spring forth unbidden. “Oh God, Wheeler, I —“

“A means to an end?” he repeats slowly, although clarification probably isn’t needed. “Really?”

She purses her lips, feeling the blood rushing to her face. “I did not mean it,” she says softly. “Not like that. I —“

“How did you mean it?”

She shakes her head, bewildered. Not sure what to say.

“I don’t… I didn’t think —“

He grabs hold of her ankles, dragging her towards him. She squeals with the sudden movement; the sheets sliding beneath her bare legs as he smirks down at her; his eyes roaming hungrily over her body.

He’s not bothered by it. On the contrary — her comment seems to have had the desired effect.

“There you go again,” he says, grinning down at her. “Can’t help insultin’ me.”

“Somebody needs to keep you grounded,” she whispers, not trusting her voice as she tries to push herself up. “Otherwise your big head would not fit through my door.”

He shoves her back down playfully and crawls forward, extending himself slowly until he’s stretched out above her. She parts her thighs, breathless, and he moves swiftly between them, lowering himself and kissing her leisurely.

It’s slow and sweet, the same way it always begins. She responds in kind, holding him tenderly, surrendering to him. He breaks away, nuzzling his way across her face, kissing her eyelids, her nose, the corner of her mouth as she floats into that blissful state of incoherence.

His mouth brushes her cheek; his warm breath prickling her skin. “I think I end you pretty well, on average.”

His deep voice reverberates against her skin, and a pleasant thrill runs through her.

She nods as he grins down at her. That crooked smirk, those deep blue eyes. His smug confidence is incredibly attractive and she’s already beyond aroused.

She gives a contented sigh as he presses his lips to hers again. He tastes of tooth paste. The scent of soap is present on his skin, along with the smoke that permeates his clothing, ever-lingering as a result of his element. She finds herself falling deeper, losing her grasp on time and reality as his tongue briefly touches hers, just for a moment.

She moans, unable to help herself. That carefully maintained persona — being distant and detached — falls to pieces when she’s in his arms.

“Did you lock the door?” she whispers, catching her breath as his mouth moves downward, sucking lightly at the base of her neck. She squirms, eyeing the entrance to her room worriedly. Gi has a habit of barging in most mornings without knocking. Regardless of the hour, that darn practicality still sets in.

“Wheeler?”

He mumbles something inarticulate in response.

“Did you —“

“Yeah.” His voice is still muffled; mouth buried in the warm curve of her throat as she fumbles around blindly for the lamp switch.

They’ve only ever done this in darkness. It’s a compromise that she’s insisted on. Call it shyness, but she’s not ready or prepared for him to see her naked yet. Not ready to be exposed to such an extent.

Her fingers curl around the cord and she twists her body, feeling for the switch but it suddenly disappears from her grasp. She cranes her neck in confusion, realising that Wheeler has moved it beyond her reach.

“What —“

He kisses her hard. Her arms fall limp above her head; the lamp forgotten as his hand slips under her singlet, moving to cup her breast, kneading her flesh gently. The light and the oppressive heat and the fighting are forgotten for a moment as she moves her body suggestively against him, surrendering to the feel of his hands roaming her skin.

He grins down at her mischievously, rolling his thumb back and forth over her nipple. He plucks it gently between his thumb and forefinger and her eyes widen; her sharp intake of breath unmistakable. The sensation is heightened as he lowers his head; his mouth grazing the sensitive nubs straining against the thin cotton of her singlet. 

He eventually switches to the other breast, in no particular hurry as she bucks and shivers beneath him.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, letting out another long, shaky breath. 

He quirks an eyebrow. “Just a means to an end, remember?”

She nods helplessly, and he leans forward, kissing her slowly, his breath mingling heavily with hers.

She raises her knees, squeezing his hips with her upper thighs; just wanting him to remove her clothing and start doing what he does so well.

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

He moves his hips slowly against her, and she can feel his erection prodding her lower belly through the boxer shorts. She moans, frantically reaching for the lamp again, trying to extinguish the light.

“Can you turn —“

“Nope,” he says gruffly, grabbing her wrist and dragging her hand away.

“Lamp,” she gasps, caught between her need for privacy and her desire to start dry-humping him. “Light. Yankee, turn off the —“

“Control freak,” he murmurs. He doesn’t relinquish his hold on her. On the contrary, he straightens, shuffling forward until he’s sitting over her hips, effectively pinning her beneath him.

She blinks up at him questioningly as he moves the lamp from the bedside table to the floor, beyond her reach.

It remains on, however.

“Ublyudok,” she hisses with as much venom as she can muster — which isn't much. “I —“

“Just a means to an end, honey,” he offers tauntingly. He draws her singlet back and settles a warm hand over her stomach, fingers lightly tracing the line of her ribs, then along the underside of her breasts, making her squirm. “Only here to serve one purpose, apparently.”

He’s grinning all the same. He straightens, pulling his singlet up and over his broad shoulders, exposing the heavily muscled body beneath. She wets her lips, trying not to stare at those well defined abs as he watches her intently, forearms flexing as he bunches the singlet within his hands; a look of deep contemplation on his face.

“Turn the light off,” she begs, attempting the most authoritative tone she can muster, but she can’t control the tremor in her voice. “Yankee, I —“

He shakes his head; dipping low and running his tongue lightly along her collarbone. She gives a low moan, twining her fingers into his hair in an attempt to hold him there. Her pulse is racing as he tracks lower, mouthing a random patchwork of wet trails between her breasts, adding to the sweat and moisture already accumulating there.

She throws her head to the side, panting softly. Her gaze flicks to the top of the lamp just visible beyond the mattress and she reaches for it again, a last-ditch attempt to maintain an element of control over the situation.

Wanting to get down to business.

“I wanna see you.”

His voice is a low growl.

"Wheeler, I—"

She feels the press of fabric over the top half of her face and the glow of the lamp is suddenly muted. She lifts her head in surprise, moving to grab his wrists. The realisation strikes her — it’s his singlet, draped lightly over her eyes. The material is pulled tight and everything goes black. It’s knotted behind her head before she even has the chance to question him.

“What are you —“

“I’m compromisin’,” he says smugly, grabbing her hands as she tries to remove the makeshift blindfold. He pulls them towards his chest, bending low to kiss her knuckles. “But it’s your decision.”

A beat passes as she gathers her thoughts, wondering if the evening will grind to a halt if she insists on getting her own way.

She assumes it will.

But on the other hand, there’s darkness.

In a way, he’s given her what she wants. She can’t really argue with that — no longer able to gauge potential reactions or judge his expression. The blindfold has provided a way of disassociating from the self-consciousness and the nerves.

He strokes the length of her fingers while he waits. The outcome for tonight is solely dependent on her.

She doesn’t know what this is.

She doesn’t understand why he insists on pushing the boundaries with her, breaking her down and bending her will. Testing the limits of the comfort zone she’s so carefully maintained after all these years — and doing his best to annihilate those deeply ingrained habits.

But regardless of her discomfort, she wants him badly enough to surrender.

She sinks back against the pillows with a resigned sigh and he presses a soft kiss to her upturned mouth. Gentle fingers skate down her shoulders and over her taut stomach, grabbing hold of the base of her singlet. The tug of fabric pinches around her waist and she arches her back, raising her arms obediently. He removes her top, exposing her breasts slowly and taking care not to dislodge the blindfold.

Goosebumps break out. She swallows nervously, folding her arms across her chest as she waits expectantly.

She hears the clothing flop to the ground. She flinches, startled as something clatters loudly to the floor — perhaps something from her bedside table. She moves to question him, but the thought abruptly vacates her mind. She feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin again, kissing his way down her stomach, slow and deliberate. He grips her panties and she raises her hips slightly; allowing him to move the scanty fabric over her thighs and down her legs.

Her heart is pounding.

She keeps her eyes tightly shut despite the blindfold, arms still folded across her chest and her legs pressed together, folded slightly at the knees. Knowing she’s exposed and vulnerable as she yearns for the bedsheets, or at least the cover of darkness to preserve some modicum of modesty.

She feels his eyes lingering on her. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation. His fingers trail over her hip briefly, then to her wrists as he gently extracts both arms from their strategically held position. They fall to her sides; fingers flexing against the bed sheets because she simply doesn’t know what else to do with them.

The bed lurches as the mattress levels out around her. The time ticks by as she props her legs up; knees still pressed together as she struggles to differentiate the sound of his breathing from her own.

Her remaining senses are all she has left.

“Wheeler?” she says softly, unsure if he’s even still in the room. “Wheeler, where are —“

“Here,” he says huskily, his voice thick with emotion.

She swallows nervously. “What are you —“

“God, you’re beautiful.”

Heat rises to her cheeks. The bed lurches again as he crawls forward slowly, settling the hard length of his body over hers. He's naked. The boxer shorts are gone and she feels the gentle press of his lips on her mouth.

She clutches his face and kisses him hungrily, parting her legs and allowing him to move back between them. They rock slowly against each other, savoring the sensation, skin to skin. Taking their time to touch and explore one another. His hands roam over her body, alternating between cupping her breasts and stroking her thighs. The feeling is sublime.

Without warning, his hands clamp down on her ass, pulling and dragging her firmly against him, leaving a wet trail of arousal against the thigh now pressed firmly between her legs.

She sobs into his neck. “Hurry up,” she whimpers, pleading with him now, practically thrusting her hips towards him. “Yankee, for God's sake…”

He ducks his head, trailing his tongue slowly over the soft swell of her breasts. His mouth envelops her, hot and wet, licking and sucking her flesh as she arches into him with a low moan. He bites down gently on her nipple and the action nearly sends her skyward. She coils her legs around his waist; her eyelashes fluttering as they squirm and rock together on the bed.

She doesn’t know what this is.

She’s known nothing like this before; experienced nothing that even comes close. It’s supposed to be chaste and perfunctory. Respectful and at times, downright awkward — in line with her previous relationships.

Not like this.

His hand slips down between their bodies and she clutches his shoulders, thrusting her hips towards his probing fingers. He strokes her swollen flesh and she moans in response. He slips two fingers inside and she cries out in pleasure, rocking her hips back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut. He leans forward and kisses her again, moving his tongue tenderly into her mouth. She's on the verge of crying now, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

She expels a harsh breath through her nose, digging her nails into his back; hard enough to leave indents. A rhythmic whine issues from her lips as he begins to twist and pump his fingers slowly. A myriad of sensations bubble through her, soon intensified as his thumb starts circling her clit with each sharp jerk of his hand.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, sweating profusely. Tears spring from the corner of her eyes, dampening the blindfold as he works her into an increasing frenzy. “Oh my… oh my God… don’t stop, oh my —“

In and out, in and out, still pumping and twisting until she feels that delicious tightening sensation, spiralling her upwards until she’s clenching around him, desperate for release, striving for —

He withdraws his fingers without warning, smoothing his hand over her stomach and inner thighs as her hips stubbornly continue grinding — but the moment has already gone.

No!

She sobs in sheer frustration as he leaves her hanging. She lashes out, reaching blindly for him, pissed off and downright indignant after being taken to the edge and left staring at the abyss rather than tumbling down into it.

A few choice Russian swear words spring to mind but he grabs her hips before she can utter them, shoving her back hard along the bed with surprising force. She yelps; the sheets scraping beneath her shoulders as he spins her around; dragging her body into position and leaving a trail of damp perspiration along the sheets in her wake.

His movements are impatient. She feels the rim of the mattress slide beneath her head and he pushes her body back further until her neck tilts backward over the edge of the bed; her braid flopping down to the floor.

The gravity has shifted and disorientation takes over; the blood now rushing to her head. Warm hands part her legs again, smoothing over her thighs and steadying her. He’s touching her again where she’s already burning up, hopelessly wet against his questing fingers.

This is foreign territory. Naked, vulnerable, completely exposed and for the first time in her life, she doesn't care. She almost laughs at the absurdity of it.

He's rough now, bordering on aggressive as he shoves her knees back hard against her chest. She gasps, the anticipation almost unbearable, desperate to return to the dizzying heights where he had left her.

She feels the press of his mouth between her legs and for the second time tonight, she nearly launches herself off the bed with the shock of it. He tightens his grip, holding her down and forcing her legs further apart as he delves deeper with his tongue.

“Oh my God,” she sobs, tossing her head around as he works her over. The weight of her braid swings back and forth along the floor and her neck is starting to ache from the awkward angle, but the sensations he’s provoking are simply out of this world. She clutches her breast, rolling her hips towards his persistent mouth. “Oh my God.”

His fingers return, running just the tips back and forth along her slick flesh, slippery and swollen with need. Nerve endings she wasn’t even aware of begin to fire in quick succession.

“Oh God, oh please… I need… Wheeler, please, oh God—” she pants. “Oh my God.”

He slides his fingers deep within her again, pressing down on her pubic bone with his free hand to prevent her from raising her hips. He pumps her hard, maintaining a slight upwards pressure while his tongue returns, circling her clit.

She knows what’s coming.

A high-pitched keen issues from her mouth. Stars burst forth as her orgasm explodes and she weeps with the sheer joy of it.

There’s no chance to recover. With a heavy groan he lunges forward, lifting her hips and pushing deep inside her.

She cries out as he sets a frantic pace. He doesn’t wait for her, driving hard and fast; their bodies slapping together amongst the smell of sweat and sex and heat.

Her head bounces rhythmically against the side of the mattress; his hard thrusts pushing her further off the bed, continuing the downward slide over the edge. She’s bowed backwards at an uncomfortable angle; her palms now flat on the floor in an effort to stabilise her upper body in its current near upside-down state.

She reaches out blindly, feeling around and grasping hold of his hands; using him as a counter-balance as she pulls herself up. They break apart for a moment as he shifts into a kneeling position and she launches herself forward, scrambling into his lap, winding an arm around his neck and straddling him.

The blindfold is tossed aside and he’s right there, nose to nose with her, sweaty and flushed; his hair sticking up in at least three directions. She probably looks worse. An arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer as they regard each other quietly, foreheads touching, hands skating lovingly over bare skin.

The elastic is pulled free from her braid and he works to unravel her hair until it falls loose around her shoulders, trailing in thick waves down her back. He sighs, nuzzling her cheek and hairline, inhaling the scent of berries rising forth. She holds him to her, cradling his face and whispering to him, kissing him deeply.

She guides him back between her legs without breaking eye contact. The moment sparks; smouldering and sensual, sinking down slowly until he’s buried to the hilt.

They move slowly together, working to find a rhythm that works for both of them. He draws her legs forward and she wraps them around his waist, holding him tightly as he lifts and drags her against him. A delicious friction builds; her breath expelling hard against his shoulder with each upward thrust of his hips.

He grips her hair within his fist, forcing her head back and trapping her there as she grinds down on him desperately. She whispers to him in Russian, calling his name and urging him on as she tightens around him, the pleasure building once again.

She comes a second time, never doubting it; squeezing her eyes shut and succumbing to the waves of pleasure rippling through her, muffling her cries into his skin. Her arms fall limp around his shoulders as she slumps forward, bouncing against his chest like a rag doll as he continues striving for his own release.

Several more thrusts and he’s reached his limit. His whole body tenses up; muscles straining as he drops their combined weight forward onto the mattress, taking her with him. Her head hits the pillow and he collapses on top of her, emptying himself with a low growl.

Her heart thuds loudly in her chest. She hugs him tightly, cradling him in her arms, still whispering to him as they catch their breath. Sweat pools behind her knees and back, leaving wet patches on the bedsheets; their bodies bathed in a light sheen of perspiration.

“Jesus, Lin,” he rasps after a while, pressing a hard kiss to her shoulder. She moves beneath him, tilting her cheek towards his hand as he caresses her face tiredly.

She feels like crying, overwhelmed and emotional. It’s not a state she finds herself in often.

“Fuck.”

“Mmm.”

Eventually he pushes himself up onto his elbows and climbs off. Cool air rushes in to all the places they’d previously been joined and she finds herself mourning the loss of him. It’s unexpected. Swinging his legs over the side, he stumbles naked towards the ensuite bathroom, leaving her alone for a moment.

It takes a prolonged effort to roll over onto her side. Her muscles are screaming and there’s a dull ache between her legs; not unpleasant but certainly not within the realm of normal. The sheets are wet, sticking to her back and calves but she’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

He emerges after a few minutes, bending low to pick up his boxer shorts and stepping into them, wincing with the movement.

Her eyes are already lulling closed, her mind devoid of all thought. Her body craves sleep. The sheet is draped carefully over her and she snuggles down with a sigh. His hand settles on her thigh for just a moment as he sits on the edge of her bed, pulling his singlet back on. He leans over, grabbing the lamp and returning it to her bedside table.

The light finally flicks off, plunging the room into darkness. She reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently, revelling in the feel of his fingers threading through hers.

“You okay?”

“Mmm hmm.”

He brushes the hair out of her eyes, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Still a means to an end, honey?”

“Uh huh,” she replies sleepily, unable to really argue with that. "Mmm."

He chuckles, rising to his feet, evidently to return to his room. It’s usually expected — or demanded, after all.

But tonight is different.

“Stay?” she whispers, her voice punctuating the darkness. She can just make out his outline moving towards the door. “Please?”

The thought occurs that he may not have even heard her. There’s no response. The door clicks closed and she knows he’s already gone.

The disappointment is staggering. She finds herself blinking back tears; a lump forming in the back of her throat.

She doesn’t know where this will lead.

Quite frankly, she’s bewildered by the sheer intensity of it all. Their frenzied couplings now resemble a basic primal need as powerful as the air she breathes. Oxygen, food, water, shelter, clothing and sex. In her mind, they’re all intermingled. All equally necessary to her survival.

The balance is slipping. The tide is turning. Like a bucket of ice-water to the face, the realisation hits her hard. It’s staggering and profound.

She knows what this is.

It’s not a means to an end, but the start of something beautiful.


End file.
